


traces of us

by wearethewitches



Series: sixty-seven thousand miles an hour | the doctor is not a monk [7]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Bisexual Clara Oswin Oswald, F/F, First Crush, First Kiss, Gen, Ghosts, Lesbian Character, No Romance, Pining, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Time Shenanigans, just pining guys and a kiss, the cracks in time and space, this escalates quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Bobbie Smith 'accidentally' stumbles on her childhood obsession: Clara Oswald. But when what was supposed to be a singular encounter turns into a dangerous adventure to save a little girl, Bobbie has to grow up.Here's to hoping she comes out with her crush intact.
Relationships: Clara Oswin Oswald & Original Female Character(s)
Series: sixty-seven thousand miles an hour | the doctor is not a monk [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652698
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Barbara Omega Smith grew up on a diet of three things when she still lived in the Australian outback. Firstly, mathematics and other, much more boring educational pursuits, such as the Laws of Time and 21st Century Earth languages. Secondly, bedtime stories about her mother – the infamous paragon of hope and goodness, the ‘Doctor’ – and her father – the far more evil, far more infamous ‘Master’ – the latter of whom, up until she was seven and three quarter years old, raised her. And lastly, but not least, the rare and unique lesson that was growing up on a _TARDIS_.

As such, unlike her many other siblings on board their mother’s TARDIS, ‘Bobbie’ knew how to drive well before she started teaching them.

“You are going to be in _so much trouble,_ ” says Kera, eyes glued to Bobbie as she prances around the console, quick as she can.

…though, that doesn’t mean she’s allowed to steal the TARDIS out from underneath her mother’s nose.

“Well,” Bobbie starts, scrambling to come up with an excuse that Kera will accept, flipping several switches, “well-”

The TARDIS screeches in protest. Bobbie hastily reverses the switches.

Kera, who clearly had just been in the shower, if the wet hair and towel is anything to go by, puts out a hand to press against one of the crystal struts to keep upright as the TARDIS tilts. “You’d better have a good excuse for the rest of them!”

Bobbie is very aware that ‘the rest of them’ means their siblings. With half a mind piloting her mother’s TARDIS, however, Bobbie can’t come up with a convenient lie to tell, for the moment they come stumbling into the console room. _How to explain this,_ she wonders, reaching to the wrong part of the console; her father’s TARDIS was so much more organised. _Seriously, what is up with that? The atom accelerator should be over **here** -_

Kera snaps at her, impatient. “Bobbie!”

“You’re clearly not going to tell on me! You come up with something and I’ll owe you, promise!” Bobbie bursts, feeling the edge of Kera’s mind ripple against her own; clearly, her sister is being too curious for her own good. Bobbie slams down her mental protections – alarming more than one of her siblings.

 _What’s going on?_ She hears a voice, recognising it as belonging to Cen, his enthusiasm stinging the outside of her mind as he tries to shove his way back in.

Gritting her teeth, Bobbie lands the TARDIS at her requested destination, checking they aren’t in the middle of a crowd or square before roughly replying to Cen’s bulldozing. Almost immediately, he retreats, a faint feeling of scandal radiating outside her shields.

“Cen is such a prude,” mutters Kera, frowning. Approaching the console, Kera looks at the monitor, carefully reading the results – even as Bobbie makes her way to the exit. “Bobbie, why are we in thirty-eighth century Brighton?”

“I’ll explain later!” Bobbie calls back, opening the doors and squinting in the sunlight for a long moment. Brighton Beach greets her, the Pier City out on the water reflecting an awful lot of sun. Before Kera can reply, Bobbie steps out and shuts the door, taking her PDA from her pocket to re-check the message from Jane.

_(-MESSAGE-)_

_[BOBBIE] I found them both. Pier City, 3612-07-07. VM coordinates to follow. Take a look at the haunted house while you’re there. [JANE]_

_(REPLY?)_

“Haunted house,” the young woman murmurs to herself, walking across the sand – nearly tripping over a Cleanerbot as she does – towards the shore. PDA still in hand, she connects to the local wifi, searching ‘haunted house’. Jane wouldn’t send her towards it if she didn’t think it would help her find Clara Oswald.

Correction: Barbara Omega Smith grew up on a diet of driving lessons, school and stories constantly littered with grumbles about the Doctor’s Human companions being the bane of her father’s lives. The one that her father was both most proud of and most annoyed by? Clara Oswald. The Impossible Girl.

Bobbie did her research. She asked her mother, the Doctor, questions over the years for certain details, keeping her dream a secret – the dream being to meet her, one day – so she could get all the pertinent information before running off and getting herself caught, by Clara Oswald or the Doctor herself. Jane had come in handy, with weeding out the Echoes – Bobbie has, more than once, gotten excited over an Echo rather than the real thing.

But now she’s found her. Hopefully. The real Clara Oswald…with proof of frozen life to boot: the Lady Me, once known as _Ashildr_.

 _I hope, at least._ Bobbie frowns to herself, discovering the nearest haunted house is somewhat of a local landmark. The ghost of a little girl ‘haunts’ the place, apparently, crying and screaming for her mummy. She’d chased out more than a few prospective buyers and it had since become a tourist attraction for off-worlders.

But Bobbie trusts Jane. She’d trust that woman with her life – has already, twice before. She always came through.

Joining the sparse crowd on the pavement by the beach, Bobbie surprises herself by bumping into someone else, dropping her PDA in the process.

“Oh, damn – I’m sorry,” says the bump-ee, picking it up to hand back to her. Bobbie goes to thank whoever it is, but the moment she meets her eyes, Bobbie is frozen, looking into warm brown eyes on a heart-shaped face.

Clara Oswald quirks an eyebrow at her. “Uh, everything alright?” But she smiles, like she knows exactly what’s going through Bobbie’s head.

Gaping, Bobbie takes her PDA back, clearing her throat belatedly to croak out the words, “Yeah. I’m Bobbie.” Somehow, she sounds normal. Lovely.

To herself, Bobbie wonders why her father left out the best detail from all his stories, combined.

_He never said she was **hot**._


	2. Chapter 2

There had been many a moment where Clara had considered taking a companion, like the Doctor did. Usually, the thought of Ashildr’s reaction would stay her, one of anxiety coupled with either disgust or distain, with a hint of obsession over remaining alone, her only exception being Clara herself; Clara is _not_ immune from Ashildr’s guilt-trips.

But in times like these, when Ashildr is away getting groceries…well, Clara really can’t resist, can she? Not when the young woman in front of her is dry-mouthed at the sight of her and lackadaisical about her appearance. The way her pale brown curls spring out messily from her lop-sided bun is adorable and so are her brown eyes to match; paired with the clear expression of Instant Crush, Clara’s ego is feeling the boost, something she doesn’t usually get from her best friend.

Luckily for Bobbie, Clara is the best in Brighton at dragging unsuspecting women on adventures.

“Haunted house?” She asks the other woman, gesturing to the device she’d picked off the floor. “I saw your search.”

“Oh,” Bobbie replies, slightly surprised. “Uh, well, yeah? Yeah. I’m going to see it.”

“Are you from New Zealand?” Clara asks her, catching the hint of something, plus a familiar Midlands twang. “It’s just- your accent,” she hurries to explain, surprised to find herself flustered over the mistake.

Maybe it’s the hair. Or the expression on her face. So familiar…

“Australia,” corrects Bobbie, rolling her shoulders before tucking her device away into a pocket that doesn’t look big enough. More alarm bells are ringing, but Clara doesn’t know which ones: the danger bells or the one-night stand bells. Hopefully _not_ both. “A friend recommended visiting.”

“Good friend?” Clara asks.

Bobbie shrugs, puffing a loose strand of hair out of her eye. “Very good,” she confirms, quietly, still squinting at Clara, as if _she_ recognises her.

 _38 th century, _the impossible woman thinks, coming to a conclusion. _She’s met an Echo._

It would explain the familiarity, on both sides. Bobbie would think she’s met Clara and Clara herself, while not being able to recall the minute details of her Echoes’ lives, knows the broad strokes of each and every one of them. If Bobbie is important, Clara will remember her eventually. She just needs time.

Or a little nudge.

Smiling at the younger woman, Clara jerks her head in the direction of the haunted house; she saw a sign for it on her walk. “Want to go check it out with me?”

Bobbie hesitates for a second, eyes flickering between Clara and the distance, but then her hesitation fluidly transitions into an expression of contentment.

“That sounds magnificent – I’d love to,” she says, sounding perfectly genuine. Clara is somehow unsurprised when she steps into her personal space and turns her around, arm linking with her own and fusing them together at the sides. It’s odd, quite suddenly, Clara not getting any of the familiarity she expected from her touch – it _has_ happened before with people who knew her Echoes.

“So, what brings you to Brighton?” Bobbie queries.

“Oh, not much,” Clara replies. “Pit stop, really. My friend and I, we travel around the globe, but the fridge-freezer was getting a bit empty, you know?”

Bobbie makes a funny face. “I’ve never been on a grocery run on my own, before. Last time I went, I think I was with my whole family.” A smile suddenly appears, growing into a grin to rival Cheshire’s. “We got kicked out of the biggest shopping market _ever_ , we made such a mess! Oh, you should have seen it, my brother got his hair done by this professional stylist and then when they turned to my mum for payment, she went through all her pockets and came up with zilch – in the local currency, at least. For some reason, she had nine hundred and forty-three yen.”

“What happened when she couldn’t pay?” Clara asks, chuckling at the story. It reminds her of the Doctor and all the times she was left with the check – sometimes, he brought out the psychic paper and pretended to be a variety of different government roles or royalty, instead, which were usually the funnier incidents.

Bobbie snorts, then turns them onto a new street on seeing a ‘Haunted House’ signpost. “Why do you think we were kicked out? Mum yelled ‘leg it’ and we scattered, wreaking havoc in every shop in five hundred yards. Security only managed to get us to stop when they grabbed Ryoko, my sister – she’s _real_ short, like, I’m talking _Vocci_ short.”

Nodding sagely, Clara tightens her grip on Bobbie, casually saying, “I’m Clara, by the way.”

“Oh!” Bobbie jerks, blinking. “Sorry, I didn’t ask you your name, did I? _Clara_ – nice name.”

“Thanks,” Clara says in a crisp voice, the two of them coming to a halt outside the self-proclaimed ‘Haunted House’. To Clara, it looks like a normal terrace house, just…unkempt. Ivy covers up the whole wall, neatly cordoned at the edges of the property, so it can’t climb over the neighbours’ and the dark brown door is peeling – a trivial detail that gives it a bit of a realism, considering how the 38th century don’t use painted doors.

At her side, Bobbie shivers, murmuring almost to herself, “There’s something wrong, here.”

Glancing her way, Clara asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing – everything.” Bobbie lets go of her arm, running up the steps to open the door, looking back at her. “Come on. I need to see inside.”

Senses tingling, Clara follows her inside the house, only barely expecting the barrier on entry asking for the visitor’s fee. Bobbie taps her device to the scanner, verbally requesting two passes, the lights above them brightening to a positive green.

“There we go…” says Bobbie, peering up the stairs briefly, before once again looking back to Clara. “You doing okay, there?”

“Depends,” Clara replies. “Is it a haunted house or is there something wrong here?”

Brown eyes fly to the ceiling as a _thump_ of a door slamming reverberates through the house. In an instant, Bobbie is flying up the staircase and Clara _really_ must miss the Doctor, if she’s actually trying to imagine what Bobbie would look like doing that with a magician’s coat.

Clara follows her upstairs, of course, pinpointing the only closed door in the corridor. The house isn’t big – perhaps only a three bedroom, at most. On the wall beside their heads, an electronic plaque says _Please Do Not Litter,_ then revolves into _All Damages Will Be Suspect To Investigation._

“Ugh,” Bobbie says, rolling her shoulders. “I’m surprised you can’t feel it. The air is _shredding._ ”

“How can the air shred?” Clara asks, feeling oddly like the one who doesn’t know things, for once. It’s bringing her back – and then Bobbie makes a disappointed face when she looks at her and all at once, Clara remembers that face.

An Echo behind a bar, looking up to see a disappointed Bobbie three feet from her face.

_Drink?_

She had gulped, then backed away. _No – no, sorry. I thought- I thought I saw a friend. Through the window. My apologies._

Bobbie doesn’t seem to recognise Clara flashing back, looking away with an uncomfortable expression as she steps forwards, knocking cautiously on the door.

“Hello? Hello, is there anyone there?”

 _You knew me,_ thinks Clara. _But you were younger, then. Who did you know?_ She watches as Bobbie leans in, ear to the door as she knocks again, tensing abruptly. It’s another surprise to Clara to hear her voice drop to a whimper.

“I can hear you crying. Please, I just want to help. My name is Bobbie and I have my friend, Clara, here. What’s wrong? I know there’s something wrong here. The world is- the world is wrong. There’s something not right. Do you know what it is?”

Being as quiet as she can, Clara edges forwards so she’s pressed up against the door, too. Like Bobbie, she starts hearing the crying, too; sniffles and hiccoughs, clearly belonging to a child.

“This is Clara,” Clara says, keeping her voice level as she reaches for the door-handle. “We’re going to come in-”

_“DON’T COME IN!”_


	3. Chapter 3

When Bobbie first came to live with her mother, she was the youngest of all her siblings, a full six years younger. Since then, they’ve all had their own adventures and times apart – it’s difficult to stay the same amount of months apart in age, though Bobbie won’t say she’s tried very hard.

But one time, Bobbie came back too early. She had been visiting Jane, borrowing one of the vortex manipulators her siblings had collected over the years, but she hadn’t remembered the right space-time coordinates; Bobbie showed up when her siblings were still only eight years old. She’d frightened them, walking into the TARDIS without a care in the world, when they’d only been used to Mum, Yasmin, Ryan and Graham.

This child reminds her of them – shouting _don’t come in_ instead of _go away_ , _get out_ and _you’re not supposed to be here!_ Bobbie and Clara are invading their – her? – safe space and in an instant, Bobbie is grasping Clara’s hand where it hovers over the handle.

“Okay,” she calls out, recognising the plea for what it is. Her hearts pump a samba in her chest. “Okay, we won’t come in. We’re sorry. Is this your room?”

For a long time, there’s silence – but Bobbie meets Clara’s eyes and she knows they’re both in agreement to wait. In her hand, Clara’s becomes loose and her skin feels lukewarm. Time is still, around her – something that doesn’t seem to be commonplace inside this house. Frankly, the dissonance between one foot of space to the next is making her stomach churn.

 _“The monsters don’t usually ask me that!”_ the child replies loudly, voice shaky. Bobbie lets out the air she was holding inside her chest, catching the lack in Clara, who doesn’t need to breathe while under the governance of the Time Scoop. Not that Clara knows that Bobbie knows, so to make their interaction semi-realistic, Bobbie frowns at her still shoulders.

…and praise god, Clara breathes. _Keep that up, lady and I won’t be forced to ask you an awkward question,_ thinks Bobbie in a somewhat stressed manner, not having expected Jane to send her into such a hell-house.

Bobbie really, _actually_ might be sick. Her time-senses are revolting.

Knocking again, Bobbie says to the kid, “We’re not monsters. That’s why. So, if we’re not monsters, then what are we?”

Quiet. Then-

_“Doctors? The doctors are say I’m nar-co-lep-tee.”_

“Narcoleptic?” Clara repeats, trying to clarify.

 _“Uh-huh._ ”

“That would explain things,” Bobbie mutters, a theory forming in her head. But is it just a voice, or is the kid _actually_ a ghost in there?

Time in the house feels different from place to place.

A ghostly child says they’re narcoleptic.

Put those together and what do you get?

Clara’s brow furrows. “Explain what?”

“Uh, nothing. Maybe everything.” Bobbie clears her throat, asking, “You’re right. We _are_ doctors and I’m sorry that the monsters came into your room without getting your permission. We won’t come in until you say that it’s okay. But because we’re doctors and because we have to make sure we have the right patient, I have to ask you some questions. Is that okay?”

_“…yes. That’s okay. You’ll stay outside?”_

“Yes, we’ll stay outside,” Bobbie promises. Repositioning herself, she starts a mental notepad up, organising what little she already knows into little boxes in her head. “First questions: what is your name, gender, address and date of birth?”

_“Stacy, I’m a girl and I live here. My birthday’s in July, on the ninth, nineteen ninety-three. I’m nine.”_

“Nine? Wow, you’re going into double digits!” Bobbie says excitably, flashing Clara a smile. Two timezones? Check. “You’re doing really well, Stacy. I’d give you a sticker, if we were at my office!”

_“I like stickers.”_

“So do I,” says Bobbie, lying her little hearts off. Stickers are the bane of her existence, since Rob stuck fourteen of them to her face with super-glue added. “Okay, here are some silly questions, now. Other doctors said you were narcoleptic. Why did they say that? What happens to you to make you sleep?”

Stacy hesitates, voice slowing as she says to them through the door, _“I’m always sleeping. My wardrobe makes me tired, so I go to sleep. When I’m asleep…I have nightmares. Big ones. With monsters who ask me my name and laugh at me.”_

“That sounds scary,” Clara murmurs, pressing her hand to the door. Inside the room, Bobbie hears the squeak of a bed and padded footsteps on carpet. A tiny pressure – the _tiniest_ – on the door makes Bobbie wonder if, in another time, a little girl is doing the same thing Clara’s doing.

“Stacy?”

_“Yes, Bobbie?”_

Bobbie crouches by the door and feels sorry for her. The lies aren’t worth it, anymore. “I need to tell you something scary. Can you be a brave nine year old?”

_“Is it scarier than the monsters?”_

“I don’t know. That’s up to you,” says Bobbie, before she tells her what she believes to be true. “To you, it’s two thousand and two, but to us, Stacy? It’s over a thousand years in the future. It’s three thousand, six hundred and twelve. All those monsters you see in your dreams, they’re real – they’re from the future, coming to see a haunted house where a little ghost girl lives.”

_“I’m dead?”_

“No, no, honey,” Clara interrupts in a soothing voice, hand pressing even harder against the door as they communicate. “You’re not dead.”

But her eyes turn on Bobbie, as if asking, _is she dead?_

Stomach flip-flopping from the distortion in time, getting worse with every second they talk to Stacy, Bobbie rapidly shakes her head, speaking up.

“Time is wrong, Stacy. Something in your wardrobe is feeding off of you, making you tired and stealing your energy – but time is powerful. You’re travelling through time in your dreams, Stacy. At least, I think you are.”

_“How do you know?”_

“Because I travel through time,” says Bobbie, truthfully, looking to Clara. “And so does Clara. Time travellers meet each other, sometimes, go on adventures.”

“Yeah,” Clara mutters, before a strange, wry look appears on her face. “For example: this is the first time I’ve ever met Bobbie, but it’s not the first time she’s met me.”

Bobbie widens her eyes comically in her surprise. “ _What?_ How did you come-”

“But Stacy,” Clara interrupts her, looking back to the door even as Bobbie’s head spins, wondering how and why Clara Oswald could _ever_ come to the conclusion that they’ve met before. Bobbie stares at her.

 _Mum and Dad both said Clara was amazing. Unorthodox. Annoying. But crazy?_ Then, Bobbie recalls some of her mum’s more sane pursuits, which would get her locked up on a normal day. _Okay, maybe Mum’s friends aren’t that sane-_

“-Stacy,” Clara repeats, before saying, “I think we both know what you’ve got to do, now. We aren’t the ones in trouble. You are. So you’re going to have to be even braver than normal and look in the wardrobe.”

_“No!”_

“Yes,” insists Clara. “We’re in the future. We can’t see what’s wrong, Stacy. You’ve got to tell us. It’s the only way this will stop.”

 _“But I don’t want to look,”_ Stacy cries, on the verge of tears.

“One peek,” Bobbie promises her. “Get a good look at it, then shut your wardrobe again. It can’t hurt you.”

_I hope, at least._

Stacy sniffles and Bobbie hears her whisper _I can be brave_. She says it twice, like she’s trying to convince herself, but then her footsteps are audible – moving away from the door. A creak. A sense of time shredding even further and _I lied._

Grasping at her head, Bobbie barely contains her gasp. Her senses go wild. _What is this?_ She asks herself, feeling it reach out and out, connecting two places in time and space that should never have touched – feeling it _feed._

Stacy’s warbling voice echoes, _“It looks like a crack.”_

“Cracks in the universe,” Bobbie repeats an old story, realising _exactly_ what this is. “The exploding TARDIS, the Doctor and the Pandorica and the second Big Bang. It’s trying to stay open – Clara, we’ve got to get to two thousand and two right now!”

“Or what?” Clara demands.

Bobbie meets her eyes, terrified beyond measure. She gulps desperately, not sure if she wants to face this. Why did Jane send her here? Bobbie’s not ready for this. This is her mother’s mess – which her mother should be cleaning up. Not Bobbie. Not Clara Oswald.

What would happen if Clara Oswald was unwritten?

“We’ve got to close it,” the Time Lady realises. All the threads in her mind leading to her siblings are closed for business today – but even her mother, the furthest away, feels the tremor that is her fear. So, she answers Clara’s question: “Or it swallows her whole.”


	4. Chapter 4

Clara’s TARDIS reacts strangely to Bobbie. She makes a rumbling noise, like her engines are blocked, before jerking as they take off. Clara watches Bobbie subtly, her trust fraying, even despite the pseudo-confirmation she was given upon stating aloud her suspicions. It was the only answer – Bobbie clearly knows her and is stumbling to keep her feet, maybe barely stopping spoilers from falling out of her mouth in a stream; it almost makes Clara feel bigger than herself, what with the Doctor/River parallel going on here.

“How do you know the Doctor?” She can’t help but ask, however. Bobbie had said his name. _The exploding TARDIS, the Doctor and the Pandorica and the second Big Bang_ – the hallmarks of a big, universe-altering adventure, for sure. Clara lands the Diner in two thousand and two in the exact same space, give or take a few feet, then says, “How do you know him?”

“Oh, well-” Bobbie clears her throat awkwardly, shaking her head. “It’s- it’s complicated. Can I tell you later, when we’ve saved the girl?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Clara nods her agreement, before they swan out of the TARDIS, side by side. Part of her is breathless at the idea of being so close to home – both timewise and by physical distance. Clara Oswald in the twenty-first century lives in Blackpool, goes to school every day and comes home to her mother, who won’t die for three years yet.

The street is mostly the same when they arrive back there. The door is glossy, rather than peeling and the ivy is non-existent, whitewash covering the brick. Bobbie hesitates at the bottom of the steps, looking at Clara under her lashes.

“In advance, I’m sorry for lying,” she says, sounding like she regrets everything. Clara doesn’t blame her in the slightest – by the sounds of things, they’re cleaning up one of the Doctor’s messes and even Clara balks at that. Add in the meeting backwards part is just asking for trouble.

“What’s our story?” Clara asks the other woman, nudging her gently with her arm. Bobbie shakes her arms, as if to throw away all her feelings, before straightening and redoing her hair. With it pulled tight, plus the business casual suit she wears, Bobbie looks like a young professional, maybe twenty-two at most. “Doctors don’t just show up without references.”

“We pretend we’re part of a sleep study and that they already agreed to host us for a few hours. Easy. If the parents turn us away, we know who’s inside the house so we can climb in through the window,” she replies in a matter-of-fact tone, before ringing the doorbell. Clara hears it chime, faintly and they wait maybe six seconds, before a tired man of clear Asian descent opens the door, greeting them wearily, uncaring of the way his hair sticks up in weird places or how the collar of his shirt is crooked.

“Afternoon…” he mumbles, confused.

“Afternoon,” Bobbie repeats, before going all-in. “We called last week about Stacy’s sleep study having changed dates. Is your partner here? We were told it was still alright to come.”

The man scowls, then steps back to let them in, fooled. “Lissa’s working. She didn’t tell me I’d be getting a visit. Stace is awake right now. Had a nightmare. She’s half out of her mind, thinking she’s going to be eaten by her wardrobe.”

Clara conceals her wince. _It’ll swallow her whole._ Letting Bobbie take the lead, Clara distracts the father, holding out her hand. “Clara Oswald. I’ll be an observer, here for Stacy’s welfare during the study. I’ll ask you questions about her usual habits, what she eats, how her social life is – all the usual things.”

Expecting this to be familiar to him, Clara doesn’t react when the man nods, introducing himself. “Tsung-han.”

“Doctor Smith,” Bobbie returns, a stiffness to her shoulders that Clara recognises from before, when they were in the 38th Century. _Maybe she’s psychic,_ Clara guesses. The younger woman gestures upstairs. “May I?”

Tsung-han waves his hand to the left. “Stacy’s back in the kitchen.”

“My colleague can introduce us both – I’d just like a chance to peek inside her room before we get started.”

Clara presses Bobbie’s point, adding, “Your partner signed documents allowing us to use photography and recording devices during Stacy’s participation in the study. It’s habit in the company we work for to get a baseline of what sort of living arrangements the child has. I understand that there may be… _conflict,_ ” she pauses, having picked up on the less than positive vibe earlier when referring to the man’s partner, “with this decision.”

She almost feels bad, lying to him. Almost. If this crack is as serious as Bobbie purports it to be, then they’d be saving this little girl’s life by investigating. Clara herself isn’t usually so honest either, on these sorts of adventures; they can always come clean if things get dangerous.

Tsung-han shakes his head, though, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine. Stacy’s got the door with glitter on it.”

“Alright, then,” Bobbie nods, heading up the stairs quick as she can. Clara watches her go, before following Tsung-han through a messy living room with old-fashioned furniture from what looks like the 80’s, or late 70’s, until they get to a pale blue kitchen.

On a spindly-looking chair sits a girl. With darker skin like her father’s and similar eyes, Clara has a funny feeling that Stacy doesn’t go to school. Her posture is lackadaisical, bare feet climbing the central wooden strut of the table as she clutches a plastic pint cup of diluting orange juice.

“Stace,” Tsung-han says in a lovely, gentle voice, so different from the tired tone he used with Clara and Bobbie. “This is Dr Oswald. She’s here about a sleep study your _abú_ signed you up for.”

“Just Miss Oswald,” Clara interrupts, seeing Stacy’s eyes widen. Taking initiative, Clara sits down at the table with Stacy, saying to her, “It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. We talked on the phone – do you remember? You said hello and told me about your nightmares about the laughing monsters.”

“I thought you were a dream,” Stacy whispers, hesitating before asking, “Is the other lady here, too?”

“Bobbie? We call her Dr Smith, at work,” she says, winking at her. The single act melts the girl, a relieved expression slipping onto her face, coupled with a few tears that she scrubs away. “You can call me Clara or Miss Oswald.”

“Can I call you Clara?”

“Go for it,” Clara smiles, Tsung-han skirting around her to stand at Stacy’s back, hand on her shoulder. He looks boneless at Stacy’s happiness. “But enough about me. What do you do when you’re not sleeping, Stacy? Do you play games? Do you have a favourite homework?”

Stacy brightens with every word, answering Clara’s questions without pause, babbling on about maths and science – listing two dozen different dinosaurs, some of which Clara has had the displeasure of meeting in person – and all in all, acting like a normal child. Clara can’t imagine this _baby_ getting gobbled up by a crack in time and space; she refuses.

_I hope you’re fixing that wardrobe, Bobbie._

Because if she isn’t, then, well…Clara refuses to let Stacy live here a day longer.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s something so simple about a _crack_.

Crack. Breach. Fissure. Fracture.

If she were Human, she might not have felt the stomach-flipping, hearts-pulled-at-the-seams _tear_ inside that crack; but Bobbie is not Human. Far from it, in fact. She is a Time Lord, with Gallifreyan blood flowing through her veins and time-sense written into her very DNA. The Brighton house is small and quiet – Stacy’s room pale yellow with stegosaurus stickers roaming the walls – but it also turns her stomach inside-out.

Bobbie, in hindsight, should have realised that being over a thousand years away from the source of her upset would negate the worst of the effects.

 _How could Mum stand this?_ She thinks to herself, forcing herself not to stagger as she crosses the threshold. Her feet sink into plush carpet and her mind screams behind her shield, wanting to blare across the galaxy _DANGER_.

“I’ve got to end this,” she murmurs, half-convinced she’s hallucinating the bright blue maw inside the wardrobe. Light reaches for her, sucking and _feeding,_ sensing her connection to time and wanting to use her – to pull the very essence of her being into itself in a false hope that it’ll heal. Bobbie resists with everything she has, but still, she reaches out, her hand tracing the line in the air.

Images filter through her mind and Bobbie can see every moment that Stacy – unwillingly – touched. She sees the Haunted House in full, the thousand years of tourists roaming the tiny hallway and shouting _boo_ just to hear her cry. What an awful existence. How terrible, how _cruel._

“How do I close you?” Bobbie asks it, struggling to remember the old stories. She remembers the tale of the Weeping Angels and the crash of the _Byzantium,_ when the Doctor fed the very reason he arrived into the rift in space-time. Bobbie can’t do that here – there’s nothing powerful enough, for one.

 _It’s a crack,_ she thinks, pushing all her problem-solving brain into that one question. _A gateway – an anomaly. It’s trying to close. It should **already** be closed. _Perhaps if she had a sonic screwdriver, she could magic it close with physics and pure mental force, but Bobbie isn’t a blunt object when it comes to mental manipulation. Her father trained her better than that.

Bobbie tries to approach it all differently, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach. How would her mother investigate? _She’d stick her hand in it, after all the other options are through,_ the Time Lord realises. Her belly twists, but not because of the awful sensation in space-time.

Bobbie _really_ does not want to stick her hand in the crack.

Below her, she can hear muffled laughter from two sources. One is likely Clara Oswald, a woman who has quickly become the lesser of her two problems and the other is Stacy, whose life this fissure has made a living hell. Nine years old and opened to the universe like that – she’ll be lucky if she’s only traumatised. Bobbie can only guess as to how her brain will have been shaped by this experience. Her level of psychic power will have increased dramatically, especially if she’s been under the influence for years.

 _Like Amy Pond,_ Bobbie thinks fleetingly, before finally remembering something useful: opening a crack to breaking point makes it snap shut, like a rubber band. That’s what her mother did, when she had a penchant for tweed jackets; Josefa has been stealing those from the wardrobe in recent years.

“I don’t have a sonic,” she says aloud, a crazy, _insane_ idea blooming in her mind. Licking her lips, Bobbie wonders just how painful her next trick is going to be, before diving right in – grabbing the crack with two hands and using all her strength, mental and physical, to wrench the crack open as far as it’ll go.

Bobbie doesn’t remember much, other than the reactions of all eight of her siblings currently residing on the TARDIS and her mother. Her mind stretches out like a new dawn, scattered and completely unshielded; and not only that, but her hands are burning and she can _smell_ her own blood.

The crack, stretching all the way through the wardrobe, shows her a black, endless void that looks like a reflection. She can see herself and Stacy, too, if she tries. But then the crack closes with an almost inaudible _snap_ and Bobbie finally comes to rights. Her mind is still unshielded – her bonds with her mother and siblings present in a way that it never has been before when they’re out of sync in time, though even that is fading – but her physical senses are adjusting to normal reality.

The Haunted House is haunted no more, it seems.

Still, Bobbie is drained. She tries to come up with any excuse that would seem important enough to interrupt their fake sleep study and eventually, decides to put a timer on her PDA with a 21st century ringtone for the alarm. She’ll pretend to get an important phone-call.

Preparing herself for returning downstairs, Bobbie sorts her breathing and uses Stacy’s mirror to check her reflection, realising her hands will be a problem; the insides of her fingers and palms are bright red and now that she sees them, she can feel the pulsing of the burns, which are at least second degree by Human standards. Her PDA is covered in tiny streaks of blood.

 _Ignore it. Don’t let Stacy’s father see your hands._ She’s still shaking when she forces herself downstairs, standing behind Clara as she finishes up a conversation with Stacy about…nuclei. Bobbie listens, amused. _Human children really don’t get enough brainpower to do these things young, do they?_

As planned, her PDA goes off ‘unexpectedly’, Bobbie putting on a show of embarrassment. “So sorry – I wasn’t expecting a call.” She looks at the flashing screen, furrowing her eyebrows. “I have to take this. Again, my apologies.”

Slipping into the living room, just out of Stacy’s sight, but not Clara’s, Bobbie fakes answering a phone. “Hello?” Pause. “Yes, that’s me.” Longer pause… “No, that can’t- no. I’m sorry, can I call you back?” Pause again, put on the worried face… “I’ll be there soon. Is my mother not answering?” Pause. “Right, yes, please call her again. I’ll take over once I’m at the hospital. Yes, thank-you. Bye.”

Tucking her PDA into her pocket, Bobbie expresses a sort of frazzled apology as she re-enters the adjoining kitchen. “Stacy, Tsung-han, I’m going to have to leave, I’m afraid. My father’s in Accident and Emergency.”

“Fuck,” Tsung-han mumbling, though to Bobbie’s ears, brain catching the discrepancy, she knows that he’s saying it in Taiwanese. He gestures for her to go. “We can re-schedule. It’s not a bother.”

Clara, turning in her chair, looks at Bobbie in only half-faked concern. “Is everything okay?”

Strained – feeling the pain in her hands ignite – Bobbie shakes her head, saying, “We should just…go.” She looks to Stacy, promise in her eyes. “I know this has been a bad sort of day for you, but I was up in your room before and I looked in the wardrobe. Do you trust me?”

Stacy, all wide eyes and hoping, nods wordlessly.

“Well, then trust me when I say you don’t have to be scared of it. All that’s inside your wardrobe is a jacket and all your toys,” Bobbie swears, the truth that the crack is gone going unsaid. She watches Stacy seemingly brighten from within, a weight lifting off her shoulder.

Standing up, Clara reaches over to shake Tsung-han’s hand, saying, “I hope we meet again, but another pair might get assigned instead of us. Good luck – both of you.” She waves to Stacy and Bobbie copies her, before Tsung-han escorts them to the door again.

When the glossy door finally shuts behind them, Clara asks her, “Is it gone?”

“As gone as it could be. I’ll check up on it, later,” Bobbie replies, before showing Clara her hands as proof. The other woman takes them gently, muttering a swear under her breath as she inspects them. Bobbie swallows deeply, the rush of adrenaline from her previous exertion returning as she says, in a high voice, “We should go back to your TARDIS.”

Clara catches herself, pulling back her hands. “Yes,” she agrees hurriedly, “We should. I’ll get you back to the thirty-eighth century.”

“You can pick up your friend,” Bobbie remembers.

The Impossible Girls smiles at her, lips quirking upwards and dimples appearing as her eyes sparkle; Bobbie has the fortune then, to remember how much she’s crushing on this woman, this _idol._

“Let’s hope she doesn’t mind me popping off,” she teases, before linking them at their elbows, just like Bobbie did originally. She doesn’t touch Bobbie’s hands, which the young woman is grateful for, only leading her down the street towards the beachside.

Eventually, they come to a stop outside Clara’s TARDIS, taking the moment to look out on 21st century Brighton.

“I’m out there, somewhere,” Clara says to her, “A younger me. I’m just a teenager. A kid.”

“I’m not even born yet, in this time,” replies Bobbie, truthfully; Bobbie was born in a TARDIS in the time vortex, after all. She didn’t always live in ‘Straya. “Time travel is the best.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” And Clara – fricking _Clara Oswald_ – reaches up with her spare hand to turn Bobbie’s cheek, kissing her right on the lips. It’s the short kind of kiss, the one that lingers before they pull away, as if you could pretend it was friendly.

 _Friendly, my arse,_ Bobbie thinks in a daze, staring at Clara like she’s the centre of the universe. _I just got kissed for the first time ever. By Clara. By **Clara Oswald**. I don’t believe it. I don’t-_

“Remember to close your jaw, before a bug flies inside,” Clara interrupts her thoughts cheerily, sauntering into her TARDIS and leaving Bobbie there, gaping at her like a loon. Once her thoughts screech into order, Bobbie follows her inside without protest, practically running to join her at the console.

_I just got kissed by Clara Oswald!_

“Back home?” She asks, grinning just as wide, mischief to her smile.

“The thirty-eighth century awaits!” Bobbie exclaims with a laugh. “Let’s go, Clara!”

“As an old friend used to say,” Clara says, pushing buttons and waiting that last extra second to flip the final lever, _“Allons-y!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter to go, from Clara's POV.
> 
> good luck explaining everything, Bobbie!


	6. Chapter 6

Bobbie is a conundrum wrapped in a pretty bow, with brown skin that nearly _glows_ under the lights of the TARDIS and a distinct gaze – one that is currently avoiding Clara’s general direction, smiling wildly, out of control.

“You’re a good kisser,” Clara deliberately compliments her, spinning her TARDIS into the time vortex and aiming for the 38th Century, as promised. Bobbie splutters. Clara lands the Diner where Ashildr parked it. “So, how does this work? How do I know you?”

“You-” Bobbie sucks in a breath, arms wrapped around herself. She looks, for a single moment, fragile and almost afraid – but then she closes her eyes and regains her equilibrium. When she speaks again, her voice is steady. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

“Then how?” Clara asks, more curious than ever. She slips around the console, settling in front of the other woman, noticing for the first time that Bobbie is taller than her – if only by an inch or two.

Bobbie takes her time in replying, eyes calculating. “We have a mutual acquaintance: the Doctor. My father always told me stories about the two of you.”

“Father?” Clara’s eyebrows furrow, forehead creasing. “Who’s your dad?”

Her lip twitches. “You’d know him as a _her,_ for starters. I’ve inherited a lot of his new regeneration’s traits,” and she tilts her chin _just so,_ as if mocking Clara for not realising from the start exactly who she is.

Well, Missy would have been mocking her.

Bobbie, however, just looks proud of herself. Arrogant. Familiar. Clara doesn’t quite know why she starts glaring, the menacing expression sliding onto her face without thought; Bobbie’s pride dissipates and her startled, deer-in-the-headlights look breaks Clara out of her flash of temper.

“Who are you?” She asks and her voice is cold.

“Barbara Omega Smith,” says Bobbie, quiet. She takes a step back around the console, edging away from Clara with every word. “A Time Lord in my own right.”

“A hybrid?” The word sounds caustic coming out of her own mouth.

“No.” Bobbie purses her lips, then bites it as she struggles not to smile. “Full Gallifreyan, me.”

“…he _didn’t!”_ Clara stares in horror, hand flying to her mouth as she struggles to process the idea. “Missy and the Doctor? They- they _procreated?”_

“It’s complicated,” Bobbie states, opening her mouth to say more, only for the doors to the TARDIS to open – Ashildr filing in with a bag full of groceries. At the sight of Bobbie, the immortal teen halts, eyes narrowing.

Her tone is guarded as she asks, “Who is this?”

“Bobbie. Barbara Smith,” the woman introduces herself, “and I know who you are. Lady Me, previously known as Ashildr.”

“Few people know that name.”

Clara, brain still trying to process the new information, blurts out, “I kissed her.”

“…right,” Ashildr puts down the groceries, joining her at the console, standing on the other side so as to corner Bobbie. _Always so protective,_ Clara thinks, thanking god that her blood pressure is frozen as it is. No surprises blushes for her. “That doesn’t explain how she knows my name.”

“I’m the Master’s daughter.” Bobbie tells Ashildr, as if she hadn’t been holding onto that piece of information for their _entire adventure._ “And…maybe, also the Doctor’s?”

“Is that a question or a statement?” replies the vaunted Lady Me, sarcasm clear. She asks her, “Why are you here?”

“To- to meet _The_ Clara Oswald,” says Bobbie, her capitalisation audible as she crosses her arms defensively. “I grew up hearing the stories – I’ve been looking for a post-Trap Street Clara Oswald for nearly a decade, now.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you? About me?” Clara interrupts suddenly, afraid that the Doctor had remembered her. Bobbie glances at her, looking confused for a moment before realisation dawns.

“Oh, you’re talking about the Doctor – right. Uh, no? No.” Bobbie blinks rapidly, then says in a delicate voice, “Regenerating healed the neural block. She’s been able to remember you for a century, now, I think. No-one knows how old she is or how much time she takes away from us.”

“She?” Clara stares.

Ashildr pinpoints something different. “Us? Who is ‘us’?”

“You know,” says Bobbie, voice weak, “I think I want to go home, now. Mum’ll be wondering where I got to.” She attempts to move around Ashildr, but that doesn’t go to plan. Ashildr doesn’t let her pass. Clara gets to watch an annoyed expression form on her face, turning into a fierce, mutinous scowl.

“I know that face,” she mumbles to herself as Ashildr and Bobbie face off.

“Let me pass.”

“What were you doing with Clara? Why did you try to find her? Why _kiss_ her? You can’t hurt her – the time scoop dealt with that.” Ashildr _glowers_ and Bobbie’s own glare is like the heart of a planet, molten hot with anger.

“We saved a little girl being absorbed by a crack in the universe,” Bobbie tells her, raising her hands to show off bloody tears in her skin. Clara gasps on reflex at the sight of them, though the air does nothing inside her lungs. “I closed it with my bare hands. I helped clear up the last of a mess my mother called – I thought you would have understood that better than I.”

It strikes true. Ashildr flinches, because Ashildr is one of those _messes._ Clara is stuck in place as Bobbie turns to her, next.

“I’m sorry for lying,” she says, though she said it before. _In advance, I’m sorry for lying._ “I was stupid, thinking I could come and meet you and just… _get away with it._ But I don’t regret it.”

“Don’t regret this kind of thing,” Clara can’t help but say. “Stacy will be okay?”

“Yes.” Bobbie closes her fists, hiding her injured hands. “She’ll be okay. I’ll get away with stealing the TARDIS by telling Mum about it. She’ll check for me, fix it if I messed up.”

Her heart should be pounding, but it’s heavy and frozen inside of her chest. Clara only has one regret today and that’s kissing this woman – kissing the Doctor’s daughter. It sounds _wrong_.

“Good,” she says softly. Her lip curls up, though. “You stole the TARDIS?”

“She doesn’t mind,” Bobbie smiles back at her, mischievous and so very young, in comparison to the old souls surrounding her. “I’m not her favourite, but she doesn’t mind. I really should go, though. Kera won’t be able to stop the rest of them from coming after me, not after travelling to two thousand and two.”

“Others?” Clara prods, wanting to ask her anything and everything about the Doctor’s new regeneration. _I wonder what she looks like?_

A laugh bubbles out of Bobbie’s mouth. “You should come visit! We’re not all together, at the moment, but there’s a fair few of us roaming the TARDIS. I’m technically the youngest, but whatever.”

Clara connects the dots and finds herself unreasonably jealous, but she sets it aside, focusing on the offer. “I’ll come visit,” she promises, “if the Doctor says it’s okay. You tell that mad Time Lord that I’m waiting.”

Her eyes glimmer. “And here I thought you were Clara Oswald. Clara Oswald doesn’t _wait._ That’s Amelia Pond’s job.”

_Amelia Pond._

Clara remembers that name.

“I’ll be impossibly easy to miss, then,” she finishes, stepping away from the console – out of her way. “We’ll see you again,” Clara promises, though she can see Ashildr isn’t happy. She’ll fix that when Bobbie’s gone.

Bobbie herself nods in agreement, still smiling. When she passes Clara, she leans in to kiss her cheek, but Clara swats her on the arm.

“None of that,” she says to the Time Lord, “I’ve snogged your mum before, in another life.”

Hilariously, Bobbie blanches, horrified. “You two _what?”_

Clara grins, asking her, “Do you really want to know?”

Her head shakes rapidly and when she speaks, it’s in a high squeak, “No, thanks! I’ll just- go!” And she slips around Clara, half-running to the door, cheeks aflame. When she reaches the outer shell, she pauses to look back at her, hesitant. “It was nice to meet you.”

“…you, too. Till the next time, Barbara.”

The Doctor’s daughter smiles at her – just like the Doctor always used to, in any form. She waves and then, she’s gone. Clara breathes an instinctual sigh of relief, blinking away tears. It’s been a long time since she’s seen that smile.

A long, long time.

 _I’ll see it again,_ she thinks. _On the Doctor and on Bobbie Smith._

She’ll see that smile again, even if it really does finally kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it! i'll see you in the next instalment of the series!

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: first kiss
> 
> come on. we ALL KNOW that the doctor and the master's kid would have a crush on Clara frickin Oswald. there was too much UST.
> 
> (too bad Bob doesn't know exactly what her relationships with her parents were lol)
> 
> -
> 
> i accept any and all prompts/requests for this 'verse. either comment or leave an ask in my [ tumblr inbox](https://wearethewitches.tumblr.com/ask)! all cracky theories, prompts and all that in every genre _definitely_ allowed!


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